The Story Teller
by BakerStreetKid
Summary: Have you ever wondered how Greg and Mycroft finally got together? So, when John is lumbered with their kids for the weekend, and a blackout occurs, John decides to tell them a story.. (Ok, so I'm really bad at descriptions, but please read!), Chapter 2 replaced! Mainly fluffy Mystrade, with some Johnlock :)
1. Chapter 1

**Hi everyone! I know that I have two other stories on the go (and they will be updated soon, I promise) I just wanted to do something different, so here is the prologue, to a hopefully very fluffy fic :)**

**Prologue**

Captain John Watson, formerly of the fifth Northumberland fusiliers had the task of caring for his nephew and nieces for weekend, a task that his husband, Sherlock Holmes, did not wish to undertake during a case.

So the task fell to him, it was hardly a burden- but as Mycroft and Greg were always working, it meant the children were all very different, each one had developed a different personality. Olivia-Grace, or just Liv when she wasn't around Mycroft was almost 17, and sparked the intelligence that any agent or spy would be jealous of- she was biologically Mycroft's, but , she had inherited Sherlock's looks of dark curly hair, a sharp whit and a fierce temper. She had spent most of her time around John when she was younger, as both Mycroft and Greg were busy with work, and John was unemployed. Charlotte, was nearing the age of 10, a young girl whom many would describe as plain compared to her siblings, but, like Greg, she was very inquisitive and always wanted to know the ins and outs of what was happening in a situation, she had grown up around the police, living every single minute with her father. The youngest of the Holmes children was their Son, Harry was the spitting image of Mycroft, and though he was only 5, we was scarily like his father in too many ways, you did not want to be mysterious around him- he would deduce your situation in a manner of minutes..

In spite of this, he loved his nieces and nephew dearly, but he couldn't help but feel exhausted already, gazing at the watch Sherlock had given him (which he was sure that Mycroft bought to give to Sherlock, so that he would have something to give John, instead of the usual gifts- a research paper and a pack of condoms. True love was certainly in the air..). It wasn't until he had looked back up at his apartment and he realized how dirty it was, specks of dust floated gracefully through the air catching glimpses of the incandescent light, however, he digressed, the children would be here any minute and he was certainly not prepared.

He quickly whipped out his phone to text Liv, until he noticed the message icon softly blinking at him, on the screen of his mobile.

_*On our way. Be warned, Harry is already deducing, and Lottie is asking questions- LH*_

*_Oh no. What questions..*_

_*You'll find out ;) Hahaha..*_

And before he knew it, Mycroft's familiar pounding of their door. 'John!' He bellowed, so practically the whole street could hear, 'Has Sherlock put the doorbell in the microwave again?'

As he raced down the tiny stairs, he called his reply: 'he said that when it was ringing, it was interrupting his deductions, so no new doorbell..' He opened the door to see the small family of 5, all waiting patiently outside the door, clutching their suitcases. 'Hi kids, go settle down upstairs while I talk to your Da- Father- while I talk to your parents.' They thundered up the staircase like a herd of wildebeest, finally, something interesting to do!

'Off anywhere nice?' The army doctor pondered, praying they wouldn't go in to too much detail.

'Yeah, just a weekend away' Greg replied, the line had obviously been rehearsed, as he was completely ignoring John and focusing all his attention on Mycroft, his velvety eyes latching on to the taller mans.

'So have a nice weekend then.' John replied, obviously third wheeling with his brother-in-law and his best friend. 'So see you on Sunday'

More silence followed as the two men smiled at each other, completely oblivious to the question John had just asked them.

'Sunday?' John finally asked, interrupting them.

'Yes. See you on Sunday, John' They both replied, and walked off hand in hand to Mycroft's car.

...

By the time John Watson had gone upstairs again, he saw that all havoc had been caused in the space of 5 minutes. Harry was running around, as fast as his little legs would take him- followed anxiously by Lottie, who managed to trip over every time she ran after her brother. He swiftly lifted Harry from the floor, as he kicked and screamed for the man to put him down, John simply replied: 'Time for bed mister.. Say goodnight to the girls'

The child was completely silent.

'Say goodnight, Harry.' John said forcefully.

Again, the child was completely silent, but this time he shook his head.

Lottie ran up to him and kissed him gently on the forehead, 'goodnight, little brother' She said very daintily, and in turn Olivia followed reluctantly.

'Goodnight, Lott-ily. Goodnight Liva.' The child said struggling.

And John carried him away.

...

Thankful for Harry's early bedtime, John relaxed on the sofa with his nieces, smiling at them as they watched Doctor Who.

'Do you think Rose will die...' Asked the ten year old quietly, 'Because she really is my favourite'

'Shh, Lottie' Her sister replied, anxious to see what happens next.

But that's when it happened, at the edge-of-your-seat moment, the power across the whole of London had cut out, leaving John and the sisters, covered in darkness.

'Do we have any candles?' Liv asked apprehensively.

But John replied with a worried expression 'I don't think so Liv. I'm sure it will be back on soon'

'You sure?'

'Positive.'

The three sat in silence for the next ten minutes, until Lottie began to cry. 'Please' She wailed. 'Can you tell us a story, Uncle John?'

'Of course my sweet, which one would you like to hear?'

'Can you tell us why you and Uncle Sherlock were having that shouting game, last time we came round. Can we play it?'

'Shouting game?' He asked, wondering whatever the girl could be talking about.

'You and Uncle Sherlock were playing it in your room.' She said very innocently, 'You kept shouting each other's names, until Uncle Sherlock said 'Oh God Joh-''

Liv began to giggle, to the point where she started to snort.

'Maybe not tonight, Lottie' John replied, blushing. Stopping Liv's insane giggling. 'Why don't I tell you the story about your dads'

'Our dad's have a story?' Olivia asked. 'Father always told us that he met Dad through you and Sherlock, is that not the case?'

'Oh no, that is what happens' He replied, 'But this is the story of how they fell in love...'

**Have a great week guys, please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi guys! So I decided to remove the second chapter, and replace it with this one as it felt it was a lot better than the original! Please review I would love to hear your opinions! Just a few notes: **

**-John's story is in italics**

**-In the normal font; is the reaction from the girls and the break into real life!**

_Since__Gregory Lestrade was a little boy, he loved spy stories, the thrill of the chase and the agonising pain of every fight scene. It was understatement to say he was addicted. His mother, however, was less enthusiastic about his future ambitions- always being the type of woman to stand in the way of someone's dream if there was a gun involved. She had taken everything from him, telling him I was just a silly fantasy- but worst of all, he was banned from watching James Bond, which was the most heart breaking of all, she had told him to grow up and set his sights on the police. 'Being a spy,' The mother would say 'is just silly tosh, Gregory. You need to grow up'._

_So he grew up, separating himself from everything spy-related, and when Sherlock turned up with his brother's umbrella he knew it would nothing but trouble._

_'Sherlock, we haven't got a case. What are you doing here?'_

_'My brother left this.' He replied, presenting the precious umbrella, in both hands as if it were some sort of sword._

_'So?' He replied, bored of Sherlock's antics with his mysterious brother._

_'I'm on a case, I didn't have time to look into it. Besides, you have all the resources.'_

_'So you decided to bring an umbrella to Scotland yard, because your busy?'_

_'Something's different this time, Gavin. Something very different.'_

_'It's Greg.' The DI replied, infuriated by the genius._

_'No it's Mycroft's umbrella. Got to dash Lestrade, catch you later.'_

_And the detective flew out the room, and the inspector's hands covered his head- he now had to sort out thousands of confidential files, so Sherlock wouldn't OD again. Every moment regretting his choice to work in the police, he would have made a damn good spy. As he thought this, he kicked his filing cabinet open with his foot, and grabbed his gun. What a time to be alive. _

_..._

_The Diogenes Club had stood proudly in the streets of London for many years, housing many officials and their secrets. Tradition kept the place together- the glue that held the bricks from tumbling. Mycroft Holmes, was no stranger to the place, being the youngest member to join since the records began, he had finished both school and university, extremely early for his age, and at 18, was already in a high position in Mi5 and working up his way in the government, at the time he was welcome in the club, now, he was part of the family. _

_However, on this particular day, Mycroft had entered his room in the Diogenes Club to discover his umbrella missing. Like Sherlock and his coats, the man had many umbrellas, but the one missing was his most treasured. He was not a sentimental man when it came to people, places or objects, but this umbrella, he valued it, for it was one that carried a knife in the handle for good measure._

_..._

_Gregory Lestrade had discovered many things about Mycroft Holmes' umbrella, not only was it extremely expensive, but the had also been waxed regularly and in true Holmes style it carried a knife, however, this discovery was made accidently and he had spent the whole evening in A&amp;E, waiting out the blood loss._

The girls, listened in awe to John's story, Liv, in particular took in every ounce of information, much like Sherlock, unscrambling the story being told.

'Scar.' She interrupted him. 'He still has the scar, from were the knife hit him- he used to show me when I was little, it was here', she traced the area on her own hand, marking the spot from the edge of her thumb to her middle finger, with her nails scratching slightly at the skin.

'What happened?' Lottie pleaded, 'What happened with Daddy's hand?'

He smiled, 'You know what Lottie? I can't remember.'

...

_'This' Gregory stormed through 221b, clutching the umbrella in his bandaged him, 'is ridiculous.'_

_I was thinking the same thing, in a much different context, you see, your uncle Sherlock and I just started sleep- dating, and we were playing the shouting game, Lottie, that you spoke about earlier, and it was a bit awkward because Greg hadn't played the shouting game for a long time. But none the less, it was ridiculous to see him, and it's safe to say that he was not happy at all. _

_We had taken a minute to compose ourselves, but that's when Greg showed me the umbrella._

_'WHAT KIND OF MAN CARRIES A KNIFE IN AN UMBRELLA?' A fuming Greg had not yet cooled down. _

_'You obviously haven't met his brother then?' I replied, for too many years I had been familiar with Mycroft's bazaar antics, and to be honest, I was a tiny bit disappointed with Mycroft. I thought he would come up with something more inventive than a knife in the umbrella handle. 'To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if the whole thing explodes.'_

_Greg then turned, 'Yeah, that's another thing.' He paused, collecting himself, 'Sherlock, I don't suppose you know what this button does?'_

_..._

**Thank you for reading! Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello Hedgehogs! Sorry about the wait, I've been on hiatus for my exams, and I have been putting it off ever since! **

**Trigger Warning! Mention of suicide..**

_Christmas, was always an unusual time at scotland yard, so, every morning when Greg got out of bed, he was very close to cancelling the festive holiday on the whole. There were many reasons for him to be unhappy (most of them invalid, but points he made none-the-less):_

_1\. It was cold_

_2\. Karen had the kids this year, she was taking them to disneyland. Another month goes by without seeing the only thing that made him happy._

_3\. The annual christmas Ball by the Metropolitan Police and Scotland Yard for Great Ormond Street Hospital (which is as boring and as lengthy as it sounds) was next week, and Greg still didn't have a date._

_It was safe to say that Greg was certainly morphing into scrooge when it came to christmas, as the carolers sung, he scorned sadly, knowing that he would probably spend christmas alone, in his pajamas. As he walked from work in the drenching rain, he whipped out his phone, and scrolled relentlessly through the calendar. It had been six months since the umbrella incident and he still had it in his apartment; admittedly, Greg had thought about calling the detective's brother, but it seemed unlikely that a call should be made for such a trivial possession, and he would never give it to Sherlock, who would probably use it as a weapon. It was safe to say Greg was stuck._

* * *

_Anthea crept into Mycroft's office and slid a cream envelope onto the desk while no-one was around, her boyfriend, Michael, was a DCI in the police force and had managed to get Mycroft a seat at the annual christmas ball, since he was always depressed around christmas-time. _

_"Anthea" Mycroft called, his voice crisp and stark, "Why did you just place an invitation on my desk?"_

_"You know why, sir." She replied, gazing down at the shiny black keys of her blackberry, "so there would be no point in me lying"_

_Mycroft sneered, "I'm not lonely, Anthea"_

_The assistant replied with a sneer, "I beg to differ, sir. If you need me, I will be at my desk"_

_Mycroft turned around. Lonely? How could he, Mycroft Holmes, be lonely? He was hardly the social butterfly, but he wasn't lonely. As he opened his contacts to call an associate, it hit him like a tonne of bricks._

_10 contacts. _

_Prime Minister, Sherlock, John, Anthea, Home Secretary, Foreign Secretary, MI5, MI6, Head of the CIA and Scotland yard. _

_Christ, he thought._

* * *

"I know my father, John" Olivia said, "And he probably didn't say christ did he?"

The captain shook his head in reply, pointing his head to Charlotte, and a gasp of realisation erupting from her mouth.

* * *

_The party, was like most work parties, too much booze and not enough time to apologise that you'd thrown up on your boss' brand new tuxedo.. However, for Greg, it wasn't like most work parties, he arrived, sober and left, surprisingly, sober. It was safe to say that Greg liked a drink, he was not an alcoholic, neither a drunk, but if Gregory Lestrade did not have a drink in his hand there was usually something wrong._

_Tonight, there was nothing wrong._

_He had walked in, practically suicidal: No girl on his arm, no drink in his hand, his suit was too tight and he had smashed his phone. It was certainly not going well for our favourite DI. He continued to stomp around, searching for the bar, but as he did he tripped over, and landed straight into the chest of Mycroft Holmes..._

_"What the bloody **hell**, do you think you are doing?" Mycroft exclaimed, as his new suit was covered in a very expensive scotch. He continued to straighten his suit, with an eye on it to look for any damage, "Do you think this is some sort of jo-" His sentence was cut short as his eyes met with Greg's. _

_Greg sighed, "We meet again, Mr. Holmes"_

_"Indeed," The taller man replied, "We do"_

_"Here" Greg said, grabbing his whiskey glass, "Please let me get you another shot"_

_"I'm afraid DI Lestrade, a shot of that would be your whole month's salary"_

_Greg dropped the glass in shock, "Jesus, what were you drinking?"_

_The younger man gave him a knowing look, "You don't want to know"_

* * *

_The rest of the evening was pleasant, both Greg and Mycroft shared in some much needed company, both men realising how much they had missed the social conventions that they missed in their line of work. They chatted the whole time, something that Mycroft Holmes had never experienced. Greg had discovered a multitude of things that he had never thought to ask, until he realised that he was talking to one of the smartest men in Britain. _

_As they started to leave the grand hall, Gregory had to ask one final question, "Why on earth do you have a knife in your umbrella?"_

_Mycroft smirked, knowing that there were a million questions to answer a simple question. He sighed in reply._

_"You know what?" Gregory replied, murmuring several phrases under his breath, "Why don't you tell me over dinner?"_

_"Gregory.." The man started to reply._

_"No ifs, no __buts, just give me a time and date" Greg said finally._

_Mycroft stood there, stunned. Nobody, had ever ordered him around. "Fine." He replied, a smirk hidden among his lips. "I'll text you what you need" As he said this, Mycroft hopped into the black jaguar waiting outside for him, while Greg processed the information._

_The car pulled away, "But I don't even have your number" the policeman shouted at the car._

* * *

"John!" The younger girl cried, "They never told us this! Tell us more!"

Olivia smiled, "Come-on Lottie, it's time for bed. Uncle John will tell you the rest tomorrow"

Charlotte shook her head and John laughed in reply.

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Sorry about the wait!**


	4. Chapter 4

John Watson, had been in one of the most agonizing wars of his generation, but the war between himself and his niece, Charlotte Holmes-Lestrade had been the toughest. As a story teller: one whose main job is to convey the love of his brother-in-law (well, almost) and his best friend, the scenes in which an army doctor tried to fight off a ten-year-old were omitted, for several purposes: one being that John Watson was left for dead by a ten-year-old girl.

"Give in, Uncle John" The elder of the two sisters said quietly, "Stop now before you create world war three".

The army doctor sighed, "Ok, You can listen to the rest"

.

_A week after the infamous christmas party, came the day before christmas eve, or as Mrs. Hudson called it, Christmas Eve Eve, which, like most things, Sherlock detested, Christmas being one of them. That morning, was a quiet one, a rare occasion in 221b, we spent the morning celebrating the festivities and debating jam over toast, "I'm just saying, John" Sherlock would begin, "But if you have strawberry jam on your toast is there any need for butter?", which would then lead to extensive research on whether butter improves the "toast experience"._

_While the experiments continued, I checked my phone, constantly scrolling through the endless e-mails in our inbox (it was our inbox because I didn't trust Sherlock with his own one), my phone vibrated softly, and the screen read __**Scotland Yard. **_

_"Everything okay?" I asked as I picked up the phone._

_"It's DI Lestrade, doctor watson" the voice replied, "He hasn't turned up for work"_

_And at that very moment Greg fell through the doors of 221b and landed softly on the carpet. _

_"I'll keep you updated" I said to the voice and hung up the phone._

_The detective inspector mumbled, twisting and turning on the red carpet, "Oh God" he kept repeating quietly to himself, "it's tonight". He looked particularly distressed: the shirt he was wearing looked like it had been slept in; his chocolate brown eyes frantically searched the room and his lips were slightly open, drawing in deep breaths. _

_Sherlock walked over, his dressing gown flowing behind him like a cape, stepping over the traumatized detective. "Oh, Geoff." He paused, "Is something the matter?"_

_"No shit Sherlock." I replied._

_He smirked and insisted on replying with a vulgar phrase, and walked off. _

_Greg groaned. "How did you fall in love with a Holmes?"_

_I chuckled, "Sherlock is one of a kind" I replied softly._

_"Wrong Holmes."_

_._

_Mycroft stood in front of his wardrobe for over an hour. "Tie" He murmured to himself. _

_"The blue won't go with the pinstripes. The red wouldn't go with the versace. The purple needs a pocket square- Sherlock took that." He collapsed. "It's useless, I'll call and say I won't go."_

_"Now, now Mr. Holmes, I wouldn't do that" Anthea came and stood next to him. "I've known you as long as I can remember, and the last time you cancelled a meal was when Sherlock was making Tea with cockroaches.." She smiled, handing him a cup of tea, "Wear the pinstripes with the red, and for the love of God, don't take that umbrella." _

_Mycroft smiled sadly, "He won't care, I didn't even know he was gay, how do I know he will like me?"_

_"It's not the end of the world, Mycroft" ANthea replied._

_._

"Uncle John" Lottie pondered, "Who's Anthea, and how did she know Daddy Mycroft so well?"

"Anthea grew up with both Mycroft and Sherlock, she was the daughter of their nanny. She was a firm friend, and then a helping hand of Mycroft's for many years."

"How comes we've never met her?" Liv asked, wondering what could have gone wrong.

The story teller drew his head down and had a sad look upon his face, "15 Years ago, Anthea passed away giving birth to her son, James Mycroft Turner. I've never seen Mycroft so distraught, she was going to be your Godmother, Liv"

They all drew silent and a single tear fell down the side of John's face.

"Please continue, Uncle John" Lottie pleaded.

.

_10 minutes to go. _

_Gregory Lestrade sat on the sofa of 221b, holding a phone and googling his date. _

_"Not how they did it in my day" Mrs Hudson remarked. "We didn't have such contraptions like google. We had eyes."_

_The detective inspector snorted. "There's nothing. The most powerful man in britain and all I can find is a linked-in account for his brother."_

_"I'm surprised he asked you out, Greg." Sherlock remarked from the kitchen, "He barely knows his own sexuality let alone someone else's."_

_"He didn't ask me out" Greg replied. _

_I spluttered, "You?"_

_. _

_5 minutes to go._

_The rain swarmed down furiously, with small droplets hitting the black umbrella that belonged to that of Mycroft Holmes. "Waiting outside" He mimicked Anthea, "That will be romantic". Like most british rain, it persisted, beads bouncing brightly off the pavement reflecting the flickering shining light of the London Street Lamps. The government man shuddered as the deluge worsened curling his slightly auburn hair._

_The second hand on his watch continued to move, the time ticking away. Thoughts swam through his head like sharks in the sea, **how many more seconds?, **he thought impatiently._

_Mycroft Edwin Siger Holmes looked up from his watch to see a very distressed detective inspector. _

_"Hi" Greg said awkwardly, "Have I kept you waiting?"_

_"Not at all" Mycroft replied smiling, "In fact, the rain has helped my nerves."_

**Ahhhh! So that was that my hedgehogs! There are still plenty of chapters to go, so I really wouldn't worry! The Anthea knowing Mycroft story line was borrowed from an amazing fic: Give Me a Label (and I'll Make confetti), and I implore you to read it! A massive thank you to relentlessycheerful and watson_to_my_holmes on instagram who have helped me immensely over the past couple of days :) Much hugs xoxo**


	5. Chapter 5

**_Update time! I have to admit that the timeline in this is a bit hazy, but oh well, it's creative ;) _**

**_I've been meaning to write for ages that of course, none of these characters belong to me, except for Liv, Lottie and Harry, the rest belong to Mofftiss! _**

_For 20 years or so (mainly the duration of time where he was shackled to the witch of his ex-wife) Gregory Lestrade complained on a regular basis that his schedule was jam packed- after all, he couldn't really plan when people were going to be murdered. Never-the-less, he was always busy, so trying to find a date night with Karen, said witch of an ex wife was tough. Trying to find a date night with Mycroft Holmes was the equivalent of trying to find a needle in a haystack- near impossible. _

_Even though Greg and Mycroft had started dating, I saw more of Greg than when he was single, and more often than not, he turned up at 221b not because he wanted a chat or a coffee, but it was because his date had been cancelled. Lucky us. The time they shared was precious, so it meant that if they stuck to their plans, you wouldn't be seeing them for a whole weekend, which leads to the friday night. _

_You have heard different retellings of this acclaimed story, most likely from both your fathers, Molly, Uncle Sherlock and even Anderson, but you've never heard it quite like thi-_

"I liked Anderson," A quiet voice broke John's flow of Story Telling; Lottie looked up, bark-coloured eyes bore into him, with admiration and surprise, "He taught me new words"

Leaning back into his chair, John arched his brow and sighed, "DS Anderson? Anderson the idiot, Anderson?"

"UNCLE JOHN" She screamed loudly, "I'm 7, I'm not an idiot... Yes, Anderson, he taught me words like Shit, Crap, Dickhead, Bastard and something that begins with F." Lottie finished proudly.

Both John and Liv held back their laughter and smiled at the fair seven year old; beaming proudly at her achievements. The army doctor leaned forward, with his hands grasped in front of him, "May I continue?" The child nodded and looked up to her sister for approval.

_That Friday night was one of the most memorable for both Mycroft Holmes and Gregory Lestrade, they had been seeing more of each other two weeks after their first date, and every time they said goodbye, Greg couldn't muster the courage to lean down and kiss him. Even though he had thought about it many times, the act eluded him, so every evening before the infamous Friday night, DI Lestrade devised a plan, to make the most perfect evening. However, as with most ideas, this one did not go to plan._

_It was the morning of that Friday, and it could not got off to a more worse start, even if it tried: the sacred summer spells that had occurred over the past few weeks were broken by ominous fog, torrential rain and thunderclaps that you could not even bare to describe... The power had been fading almost all day, flickering on and off here and there, some parts of the country were graced by falling trees and flash floods- hardly the perfect English spring that they had all been promised the week before. At that time, Scotland Yard was in the midst of several scandals: forging papers, botched operations and policemen not getting the funding they needed, so naturally, all week the offices were crowded with the media, shoving their microphones where they were not wanted, what was more, as the weather came, they all decided to take Shelter in the vacant offices opposite to Greg's, meaning he couldn't even drink his coffee without a reporter complaining they were slacking. It wasn't exactly the best day, the only thing saving it was that Mycroft would pick him up for lunch, in the panic, he zoned out, dreaming of a sleek black car ready to collect him from the place he dreaded entering almost every day, taking him away from the endless paperwork and squabbles of younger co-workers, with Mycroft, it all seemed to be washed away, like the sea wafting in to the shore, taking the sand and the gravel with it. Alas, Gregory's day dream was interrupted by the sharp alarm call from his phone, the high pitched beep leaving a note in the air: a text from Mycroft, "Apologies, Chinese diplomats are keeping me busy during lunchtime, I'll talk to you later". For the rest of his break, a certain detective inspector was occupied on the thoughts of how to mysteriously kidnap Chinese diplomats from the hands of the British government, unfortunately, all his plans required something he didn't have- time. _

_After his break, several stabbings, a double homicide, an encounter with the younger Holmes and his companion along with reams of paper work to go with it, Greg finally left the office at 11 o'clock. These were normal hours for anyone who planned a career in the force, but as it was Friday, they all went home early with the bad weather as an excuse, making sure that Greg had missed any chances of having an evening. To make matters worse, the tubes were hardly running due to the erratic weather, meaning that buses were sparse and taxis were impossible to get- in simple words, Greg had to walk home. His tired feet slowly lugged him across the miles of street found in London, which in the wet weather was surprisingly relaxing, as Greg continued to trudge he saw the lamppost flicker and reflect on to a shiny black surface that pulled up next to him. The door opened to reveal the elder Holmes in all his glory, despite the time and the disruptive weather._

_"For goodness sakes, Gregory," the man tutted, as Greg slipped into the car, smiling at the man sitting next to him, "why didn't you think about calling me? I could have had a car pick you up in less than two minutes"_

_The grey-haired man smirked and sighed, "I missed you"_

_They spoke quietly about each other's day as the car made it's way across London, slipping between the damp roads, it turned out that Mycroft's diplomatic lunch had saved a quarter of our resources as well as our democracy, "It was nothing" he said calmly as Greg's jaw dropped to the floor. The car came to a standstill a few seconds later, as the door swung open, Greg's eyes latched upon the most gorgeous town house his eyes had ever lay on: the cream exterior held a large wooden door, painted with silky black paint, white numbers decorating it lightly._

_"This isn't my house" the detective inspector remarked_

_"Well," Mycroft replied sarcastically, "I'm glad you're paying attention, because you're quite right, it's not your house"_

_They stepped out the car and walked together up the smooth stone steps, their fingers laced together as Mycroft's key slid in the door; it swung open, revealing a large hallway tiled with cornflower blue and white patters swirling around the floor, "I always imagined you in a flat" Greg said finally, almost speechless as he took in his surroundings._

_Mycroft smiled and led him through the house, "And why would you think that?"_

_The DI looked confused, "I don't know," He replied, "but one person living in a house all buy themselves doesn't make any sense, you must get so lonely" _

_The government man smiled and stepped closer towards Gregory and started to remove his coat, "That's why I invited you here, even Sherlock has never visited", he paused for a second deep in thought, " I'm sure there's a good reason" _

_Greg gazed up towards Mycroft and smiled, "I couldn't imagine why". They both walked slowly into the kitchen, smiling at each other, and grasping onto the other man's hand. Mycroft went to get a meal from the fridge, "Sally has probably gone to bed, she left us this" he said tiredly, holding a package from M&amp;S, labelled sadly, "Lasagne for one". Greg plucked the package from his hand and placed it back in the fridge, "What's your favourite meal?" he asked, a beam appearing from his face._

_"I don't really have one," He replied_

_"Something quick then? No offence, Myc, but you look exhausted"_

_Mycroft cocked an eyebrow in confusion as Greg made his way around the kitchen, grabbing several vegetables and ingredients from the cupboards that surrounded the far wall of the kitchen. "You like eggs?" Greg asked, and sleepily, Mycroft nodded his head and watched Gregory as he continued to pull the ingredients into some form of meal._

_The silver haired man turned the radio on, twisting the dial so the younger man would be able to hear it, Greg smiled as the tune started to play, walking over to Mycroft and pulling him closely, "I don't dance, Gregory, I can do many things but dancing is not one of them"_

_Greg started to sway, humming quietly to the music he closed his eyes and whispered in his partner's ear "how would you know"_

_The couple continued to dance as the lyrics poured through the speaker and the music hit the walls of the kitchen, before they knew it, time had passed, and hunger was getting the better of the two. Greg turned back to find the omelette he had made Mycroft was completely burnt to a crisp, with smoke erupting thoroughly from the pain. As they noticed this the smoke alarm sounded blaring across the house and the sprinklers descended from the ceiling, completely soaking the two men._

_Instead of separating to fight the fire, as normal people would, Gregory darted over to Mycroft and kissed him softly, as the sprinklers began to fill the room with water- the two men completely forgot about the situation, blocking out most of the noise, continuing to kiss. As they did so, Greg opened his eye slightly to see the younger man beaming away, all the muscles in his face had completely relaxed and suddenly Mycroft Holmes looked 5 years younger. It was in that moment that Greg realised he would never want to be apart from Mycroft, he wanted the moment to feel infinite... Until, a fireman burst in and dragged the two men apart. _

_"Not ideal." Greg muttered, his first kiss with Mycroft was broken away by an obviously exhausted and quite harassed-looking fireman._

_"Sir, do you realise your life could have been in danger?" He asked Greg, his voice raised and filled with anger._

_Smiling stupidly, the man replied, "I didn't even hear the alarm, officer"_

**_I really hoped you enjoyed that chapter! A massive thank you to watson_to_my_holmes and relentlesslycheerful on instagram for being a source of pure amusement, fangirling and advice. Please review! _**


	6. Chapter 6

**Two updates in a week! I've got the writing bug back and I love it! A small trigger warning for you: there is a mention of drugs..**

**Once again, all of these characters (except Liv, Lottie and Harry) belong to Mofftiss and Conan Doyle's original Canon 3**

_It had a been a whole month since Greg and Mycroft had last seen each other, since that kiss, so whenever Mycroft had a free few minutes, he would do the following things: text Gregory (totally innocent things, of course), spend a good 80% of his time thinking about said kiss and then planning. Mycroft had never been one to think on his feet, when he had control, he wanted to plan everything, which made his job more than ironic- you can't really plan emergencies in the government. _

_Something that Mycroft couldn't plan, however, was his boyfriend? no. Lover? Certainly not. Date? Maybe. Well, he couldn't plan Gregory, who, after work one day, slumped up against the doorframe, his head hung and a sadness in his eyes prevailed. _

_"Hi" Greg addressed him, the pain heard in every syllable of his language. And as if to say "Bloody hell, I missed you" The older man reached up to kiss him, his lips slowly touching Mycroft's._

_"Hello Gregory" He smiled into the kiss, and wrapped his arms round him in a soft embrace, "Would you like to come inside, or are you going to wallow in your sorrows on my doorstep all evening?" He held the man's hand as he stepped up to the grand hall, and looked across to him: his chocolate eyes heavy; natural swoop of grey hair was now stuck to his forehead with a strange mixture of rain and hail; face forlorn and tired. _

_Mycroft stepped into the adjacent room grabbing two tumblers and a bottle of whiskey. "you need a drink" the government man said sympathetically as he stepped towards the bar in the lobby, pouring out two large shots of whiskey and dropping an ice cube into each. With his eyes kept on the older man's the whole time they walked over to the sofa, Greg still not speaking a word, until soft sobs emerged from him. With no idea what to do Mycroft handed him the glass and ordered him to drink, when Sherlock woke up crying when they were younger, he would read him his favourite story about a swashbuckling pirate who went by the name of red beard, however, this method wouldn't really be appropriate here, so he stayed with him, a hand lightly resting on Greg's knee, he tapped him and smiled. _

_Greg continued to cry, huddling into Mycroft- who looked extremely uncomfortable- fresh tears pouring from his eyes. _

_"What's wrong?" He asked quietly, deciding that rubbing his shoulders softly would be a good idea, he'd seen it in films, so this kind of affection would be appropriate. _

_"Kids." He replied, trying to gather himself together, from what Mycroft could remember, Greg had three children from his previous marriage, all of which had turned out in ways he could not imagine: Sophie, Michael and Rachel were all teenagers now, who had been broken by the split of their parents, and until Greg and Mycroft started dating? No. Sleeping together? No. Becoming closer? Sounds about right. They had always thought that Greg was to blame for the breakup of his marriage, when in fact, his wife was having a steady relationship with three other men, one of them being his best friend. The end of his marriage had ruined Greg, and he was only starting to get back on his feet, so only God knows what has happened..._

_"What happened, Greg? Are they ok?"_

_The detective inspector shook his head sadly and replied during sobs, the occasional snivel as if to console himself, "I came out to them last week, I felt that they should be some of the first people to know before they hear it from someone else. Karen's married to Dimmock now, so they hear all sorts of gossip from Scotland Yard.." He paused to compose himself before carrying on, "Never mind, today I got called out twice: once for Sophie who had stolen a handbag from a shop in Oxford Street, worth a neat price of £400, and she preceded to throw up in it, meaning I won't be able to pay my rent this month, as I've had to buy a hardback for her which will then be going in the trash. Michael was caught taking drugs and now not only do I have to pay for rehab but I'm being blamed for the whole thing. And Rachel. Where can I start with Rachel? She pulled her braces out with a fork because she wasn't getting any attention from Karen, then she decided that it wasn't enough so she got kicked out of school for dislocating a girl's arm." Greg sighed, "But to top it off, Karen Dimmock, who married my best man, thought it was best that I don't see my children until further notice, because I'm a bad influence on them. So, I'm getting sued."_

_Mycroft kissed the crown of his head, "I don't know what to suggest that will make you feel better, how are you going to pay for all of this, will you have to give up the flat?" _

_Greg nodded sadly in reply, the little independence he did have was being slowly dragged away._

_"I'll sort it out for you," Mycroft replied, "But for now you need a break, and I have the right perfect solution"_

_The detective inspector looked up to him, his eyes shining with a glimmer of hope. "I can't take a break, Mycroft, I can't afford to" _

_"And you can't afford to worry either, I will sort it all out, all you have to do is tell me why you need from your apartment and who to contact so I can get you the next few days off of work"_

_._

The story teller was bought back to the real world when his phone started buzzing, the screen read, SHERLOCK. He slid the green phone across the screen and sighed,

"Sherlock what's wrong?" He asked. Sherlock never called. Texts involved less thinking, apparently.

"The whole city has no power" the detective sighed.

"No shit Sherlock.." John remarked giggling, "Where are you?"

"Mycroft's" he replied, "He is the government so he is bound to have back up generators. And he left his key in his pocket again."

"That's where people usually keep them, Sherlock" I replied, trying not to loose my temper, "Why do you need back up generators, anyway?"

"Toes" the man replied, before hanging up the phone_. _

_._

_Mycroft and Greg arrived at a country house in Scotland, a few hours earlier, they found the clothes, the tickets and then the jet, so before they knew it, they were flying across England. Mycroft had discovered that the beauty of having a private plane, was exactly that, staff only came when they were called or they were needed, meaning they could spend an hour and a half to themselves. Greg, had also realised this, and he had decided to take full advantage of it, by kissing Mycroft as many times as the other man could take it. _

_"I want to thank you for earlier" Greg said softly, "I couldn't imagine anyone else to be as brave as you were in that situation and you made me realise that it would be hell not spending a day when I don't talk to you. So, I will ask this question, and I know you're uncomfortable with making decisions quickly, but Mycroft Holmes, will you do me the honour of being my boyfriend?"_

_A beam appeared across Mycroft's mouth, "a you've taken the words straight from me, Gregory dear. I would love to be."_

_Greg laughed, "When I propose, it will have to be a lot more extravagant..." As soon as he realised what he had said, he clamped his hands over his mouth. _

_Mycroft's eyes sprung open. "You, Gregory Lestrade, was thinking about asking me, Mycroft Holmes, to marry you?"_

_Greg apologised, "I didn't realise, I was trying to be funny."_

_"You. Want to marry me?" Mycroft still was trying to get over the idea.._

_"Myc, I'm sorry, I forgot that you were afraid of commitment."_

_Mycroft smiled, "Gregory, I was in shock, not because I have commitment issues, simply because I never expected that someone like you would ever imagine wanting to marry someone like me.."_

**There we go! Another chapter done! Please review, I would love to hear your opinions! Thanks once more to watson_to_my_holmes and relentlesslycheerful on instagram who have helped me throughout the last few chapters, and I am indebted to their help (and fangirling). Thank you! **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hola! So just a few notes before you read this chapter:**

**-As far as I know, there is no Maycomb Street in Islington..**

**-Mention of needles**

**-A shit tonne of Angst.. Enjoy!**

_London, as we knew it, was an unusual city: in one place, it felt as if the whole world was buzzing with sound, each beat of the street pulsing through your veins, but, in another street, the echoes could be heard as your feet hit the pavement, the awkward sound of silence passing through you as you walked nervously through the black of night. London, was a battlefield, and only those who could live and breathe this city could truly feel it. Gregory Lestrade was one of those people, he had spent his life there, battling against everyday life in a city that knows no ends- each evening for almost 20 years, he would retreat to the house he shared in Islington, with his witch of a wife. It had never been his intention to raise his children in a city like this, where gun shots could be heard from your bedroom and used needles were found on the corner of your street. _

_Gregory's retreat went by another name: 42 Maycomb Street, a street that knew the pain of a life in the city if there ever was one. This street had known the disruptive corruption of war and turmoil, and the wrenching fear of loss- houses slowly crumbled, as if they were tied to the foundations with loose threads, and someone was about to bring a pair of scissors, so the whole road would fall to pieces. Tiles flew off the roof tops like birds escaping from their nests and brick dust would scatter the graceless grey gravel like snow. This was a place that felt pain and Gregory Lestrade knew this too well._

_Since the divorce, Greg had left his crumbling abode for a heartless flat- Karen had taken everything: the house, the car, the kids. As if to spite him, they still lived in his retreat, the unlikely place that he called home: Karen, Dimmock and the Kids. It hurt Greg to think it about his past and what had become of it, but it pained him even more when he discovered that Mycroft had visited there that day. _

_2 hours earlier_

_Mycroft Holmes waited anxiously outside Greg's old house, he could still see reminders of the detective throughout his past home: the red door and the simple silver knocker and the ivy growing around the frame- Greg had described to Mycroft days before he visited, he told him about the times where he would come home to the warmth of the roaring fire and then complain to Karen that they needed to do something about the front of the house, he had plans for the garden, great climbing plants would cover the side of his house as smaller plants would coat the soil, Greg had always been one for being outside, he had a passion for making new ground in a garden, changing it and adding life, but it was obvious now that his plans had never come to life. The rest of his house displayed open bricks painted a glossy white, even though most were covered with ivy, he could feel the passion that Greg injected into it. He could also tell that Karen had recently had her nails done, by the scratches underneath the door handle. _

_All of the information churned slowly in Mycroft's mind, he realised how much of a mistake it was to come here where he was not wanted, a home where his partner was barely acknowledged, but as he took a step backwards, the door opened to reveal a spitting image of the man he loved. _

_"You can't stand out there all day" The younger boy smiled, "Would you like to come in?"_

_"You must be Michael Dimmock" Mycroft replied stepping into the small hallway._

_"Lestrade." He replied. "Michael Lestrade. Michael Dimmock is my stepfather, we agreed that for my dad's sake that we all keep Lestrade. Rachel, however did not comply." _

_Mycroft paused, there was a look of sadness in the boy's eyes, the same sadness that he saw in Greg's that Friday night. "You don't even know me," He finally said, the silence filling of corner of the bright white hallway. _

_"You look familiar," Michael replied, "Have I seen you before?"_

_2 hours later_

_Greg was fuming. He had been mad before, but never this angry, he stomped around his apartment; screaming and shouting, about privacy and trust. Mycroft edged towards the leather sofa in the apartment, his feet firmly on the floor and his hands fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt, as if he was nervous, or had something to hide. _

_"How dare you go near them, without even telling me, Myc" He screamed, his arms flailing above his head. "I haven't seen them in weeks and you walk around like you own the place?"_

_Mycroft cast his eyes down, "I wasn't going to go in," He paused anxiously, "I promise you that, now. I could see so much of you in Michael, his pride and determination. I understand why it hurts you that you can't see them everyday"_

_"HURTS?" The detective inspector, "It doesn't hurt, Myc. It feels like someone has torn apart my chest and is slowly tugging at my heart. This feeling rips me apart limb from limb." His voice lowered, "You will never understand how I feel.."_

_Mycroft cast his eyes towards his lover, "if you feel that way, then maybe I should go"_

_"Maybe,"_

_The government man stood up, kissing Greg on the cheek, "goodbye"_

_As the detective inspector saw him leave he felt all the pain that had accumulated, "This can't be goodbye, Mycroft", a lump at the back of his throat. _

_"All lives are lost, all hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage"_

**Thank you for reading! Please review :) Of course, once again massive hugs to Jess and Kanika, as they helped and supported me throughout this chapter 3**


	8. Chapter 8

**A massive thank you to Jess and Kanika for all the help 3**

A whole week has passed since Greg and Mycroft last spoke to each other. Neither of them wanted to see anyone, talk to anyone or do anything, both men had hit an all time low.

Greg, worked from home, filling out an abundance of paper work: sheet after sheet scribbled with tiny notes and observations. Any work that required him to leave his house was to be referred to DI Dimmock, until Greg felt capable of going back. He couldn't face anyone over the embarrassment of being so childish; the thought made him so angry, his mind drunk on regret. Why didn't he run after Mycroft? Why didn't he apologise? Why couldn't he act mature for the whole conversation? These thoughts whirred around his mind, slowly spinning like a wheel, each time, raising more questions and regrets. Work, was a happy distraction, being torn away to fill out forms and answer questions was better than any deep dark hole that was slowly swallowing him. There was one, that had him stumped: The case of Matthew Capote, British officer who had been missing for two weeks in Afghanistan and returned in Liverpool, only to be held hostage by terrorists seeking revenge on the British army. When the security services finally rescued him he went home to his wife and newly born daughter, the week after that his body washed up on a beach in America. It didn't make any sense, how a man who had never left Britain except for his job, in which he was only stationed in Afghanistan and Iraq, washed up a week after being captured by terrorists. There was no chance he would be able to get to the bottom of his case without his team and Sherlock.

That was the issue, now, the new thought that was clogging up his head with worries: seeing Sherlock. The last time he saw Sherlock he was still with Mycroft, and something about the younger Holmes reminded Greg so much about the man he was in love with. Greg didn't want to be reminded of the mistakes he had made, he just wanted to continue to live his life, which is extremely difficult when you're not with the man you love.

The next day he decided to make a massive step and leave the house, this was big for someone who could relapse into depression, he had to keep working, which, at this time was a welcome distraction. He jumped in the first taxi he saw and directed the driver to 221b Baker Street. The detective inspector took a massive breath as the car slowly pulled up out side the door, Greg handed the man the money and bravely stepped out into the porch, to be welcomed by Mrs. Hudson.

"Detective Inspector, what a surprise. John said that you'd had a bit of a spat with Mycroft" She said calmly, welcoming into her flat.

"I'm sorry Mrs. H, it's just a flying visit," He said, avoiding all thoughts of Mycroft, "Are the boys in?"

She nodded sadly and Greg leaped up the stairs, skipping two steps-eager to leave as soon as he could. Before he was allowed to gasp for breath, Sherlock had him pinned against a wall:

"GEOFF LESTRADE" The younger genius shouted, pushing him against the wall, "You know that you never hurt any family of mine. I may have a strong dislike for my brother, but I would never think that YOU WOULD HURT HIM" with every shout, Greg was pushed against the wall-papered covered walls, "You should be ashamed, Geoff" The genius stood back and let the detective inspector breathe.

"First of all" The older man started, "It's Greg." He paused, getting the attention of Sherlock, "Second of all, I never meant to hurt your brother- it was.. It was a stupid mistake, and I've certainly paid for it. He may be hurting Sherlock, but I am as well, I gave up the one man who really loved me; who cared for me, just because of a childish argument. I was going to ask him if he wanted to meet them anyway. I was just so gutted that he had to do it to me behind my back." Greg stopped, his knees suddenly feeling weak, and he crumbled to the floor, "Every day I wake up and I look over to see an empty space in my bed, it's only been a week and it feels like a year. Everything I love has been lost, Sherlock."

Sherlock stood there for a moment, his sea-green eyes carefully calculating as to what the older man was doing: curled up against the wall, he was softly crying and cradling a brown envelop. "JOHNNNNNNN" Sherlock called from the living room, "Lestrade's here, and his eyes are leaking!"

•

After a beer and an argument with both John and Sherlock respectively, Greg left 221b with a weight lifted firmly from his shoulders. His feet planted him on the concrete blocks of Baker Street, but he had no where to go: he could catch the tube back to his flat; he could get a taxi to the Diogenes Club and beg Mycroft for forgiveness or he could get a bus to Maycomb Street, Islington and pay an overdue visit to his kids. He pondered for a while until he saw a familiar black car pull up at 221b, "Detective Inspector Lestrade" The chauffeur said politely, "how lovely it is to see you again, Mr. Holmes has requested that you join in him in the back"

Greg opened the door to find Mycroft, who was more of a shell of the man he used to date: he was thinner; with large bags circled under his eyes and a tired smile across his face.

"10 years and I think Sherlock has finally realised that his flat is bugged with cameras" The government man said quietly, "I heard every word you said, Gregory, and our argument was absolutely ridiculous, but after this week of hell, I couldn't imagine anything better than you kissing me right now" and as if his words were magic, Greg brought his lips to Mycroft in a slow passionate kiss.

"I love you, Mycroft Holmes" The man said, with slow realisation that this was the first time he had ever said those words to Mycroft. "Look, I'm going to ask you something now, and you don't have to give me an answer, but would you like to meet my kids? Properly? It will just be a simple dinner, nothing too major- I'll cook, I just want my children to meet the man I love"

"I couldn't imagine anything else" Mycroft said smiling happily, "I love you Gregory Lestrade"


End file.
